


After the Fact

by tangerinabina_de_archanea



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Drinking, M/M, Mild Language, just two dads chilling and falling in love, not quite enemies to lovers more like... irritated coworkers to lovers HFDSLJF, spoilers for Seteth's past
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:09:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21984964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tangerinabina_de_archanea/pseuds/tangerinabina_de_archanea
Summary: “Aren’t we a bit old to be acting like lovesick fools?”“Eh, maybe a little. We can be lovesick without being fools, right?”The Archbishop's advisor and the Captain of the Knights of Seiros have more in common than they think.Written for the Fire Emblem Christmas Rarepair Exchange 2019.
Relationships: Jeralt Reus Eisner/Seteth
Comments: 12
Kudos: 69
Collections: Fire Emblem Rare Pair Christmas Exchange 2019





	After the Fact

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NyeLung](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NyeLung/gifts).



As a general rule, Jeralt dislikes the church of Seiros. Heavily. He’s distrusted them ever since his daughter was born, especially that Archbishop, and he’s not too fond of the majority of the driveling fools that hang on to her every word as if the goddess herself is handing out teaching assignments and blessings and smiles that aren’t quite all they seem to be. 

Surprisingly enough, out of all the members of the Church of Seiros, Jeralt’s favorite has to be the Archbishop’s own advisor. Seteth, unlike everyone else in Garreg Mach, is sensible; Jeralt knows this because Seteth seems to hate Jeralt’s guts, and distrusts him even more, and that only makes Jeralt like him more. He likes sensible people. If only he wasn’t part of that damn church, he feels like they could be friends.

As it is, they’re too busy being snippy with each other to be friendly. It’s almost a competition of sorts, to see who can mask their rudeness even better under a polite facade, as Jeralt openly expresses his displeasure at being forced back into his old position at the monastery, and Seteth openly expresses his displeasure that an outsider who once disappeared under mysterious circumstances was given that position. Jeralt’s always sure to use just enough of a dose of sarcasm to get his point across, and receives just enough of Seteth’s cold politeness to sting in return. He gives as good as he gets, that’s for sure. Jeralt respects that. 

In a way, he sometimes catches himself respecting Seteth as well, but not to his face. Never to his face.

* * *

Seteth doesn’t trust Jeralt, nor does he trust his daughter Byleth. The circumstances under which Jeralt disappeared are too suspicious, and Byleth, well… she doesn’t have any sort of traceable history. At all. Jeralt can’t even bring himself to remember the year in which his own child was born. Seteth is, to say the least, not impressed, and to say the most, highly suspicious. And yet Rhea continues to smile and tell him that all will be well, that she’s sure they can trust them both, and Seteth feels there’s something that she’s not telling him. Maybe she knows more than she lets on, or maybe it’s just Rhea being… Rhea.

Jeralt’s office is across the hall from Seteth’s, which means that he can see and hear almost everything that goes on in there. Jeralt is diligent in his work, no matter how many assignments he’s given, and even if he makes veiled jabs about it the whole time, he still works efficiently and gets the job done. Seteth respects that, and he almost, _almost_ respects Jeralt for it. Rhea made a good choice, it seems, in reinstating him in his position, at least as far as his work ethic goes. 

Perhaps he does respect him, if only a little. 

* * *

Jeralt’s office is across the hall from Seteth’s, which is… not as bad as he thought, to be honest. Seteth usually keeps to himself, and stays busy with his work, which is fine by Jeralt. He was thinking that he’d have to deal with the advisor’s suspicious stare and long-winded talks more often than he does (not to say that he doesn’t deal with his fair share of both, but he doesn’t mind them all that much, to be honest. They’re more bearable than he initially thought.)

Being across the hall from him is like a little window into his personality, and Jeralt learns that a lot of his assumptions were wrong. He’s still a hard-ass, certainly, and a bit of a stick in the mud on some things, but he’s much less stern than he lets on, and a lot more kind and understanding than he initially thought. When Jeralt first started, he would cringe as students walked into Seteth’s office, assuming that they were there to be scolded for something that, at least, in Jeralt’s opinion, they didn’t deserve to be scolded for, but instead he was pleasantly surprised. Many were there to simply ask for advice, which Seteth always graciously gave, or even to visit. Seteth would always make a pointed comment about how he didn’t “have time for idle chit-chat” while he simultaneously cleared away a space on his desk for tea. It made Jeralt chuckle, watching him say things like that and yet act completely opposite.

Seteth really isn’t as bad as he initially seemed, Jeralt finds out. He considers going over there for a visit, and he wonders if Seteth would clear the desk for him, or simply glare and tell him to get back to work. Maybe it’s not too late to be friendly.

* * *

Seteth visits Jeralt many times before Jeralt visits him, but never for pleasure. Only for business. 

“Your reports?” Seteth asks one day after entering Jeralt’s office, his tone clipped and no-nonsense. The captain had come back from a mission a few hours ago, and he’s sure that the reports should be done by now.

Jeralt, infuriatingly, kicks his feet up on his desk. “They’ll be done.”

“They should be done now,” he frowns, glaring at the other man.

“I just got back. Can’t a man relax a little?”

Seteth doesn’t understand how Jeralt can just _relax_ when there’s work to be done. To him, it is unfathomable. Yes, technically, the reports don’t need to be in right away, but why wait to do them? It doesn’t make sense. “Relaxation comes after work. Your work is not done.”

“You know, Seteth, one day someone is going to find a way to remove that huge stick up your ass. For the sake of everyone around you, I hope it happens soon.”

“I beg your pardon?” Seteth scoffs. “Care to repeat that?”

“I haven’t had enough to drink yet to have complete disregard for my wellbeing.” He swings his legs off the desk and stands in one swift motion. “You should join me some time. You could use some loosening up.”

“I don’t go out to taverns and drink, thank you very much. Besides, alcohol has little effect on me.”

“Suit yourself. It’s not too late to start, though.”

* * *

Jeralt is determined. It’s become a personal mission, of sorts, to make that damn stubborn advisor relax. He doesn’t know why he feels the need to be so persistent, but he does. Seteth doesn’t bother to clear his desk for him when he visits, but Jeralt also doesn’t bother to sit down. It’s an effective compromise.

“Just once. _Just_ once. You don’t even have to drink. Just come out and unwind.”

“My idea of relaxation is not spending the night in a tavern, Jeralt.” Seteth is still looking down at his work, drafting something on his drawing board.

“Then what is?” Jeralt crosses to look at the board of drawings, maps, and schematics on the wall, placing his hands on his hips as he looks up at them. He wonders where Seteth learned all of this. The man keeps his past closely guarded, which is something Jeralt can appreciate and understand. He doesn’t ask questions.

“Staying in the monastery, first of all,” Seteth says, frowning at his paper, perhaps in concentration, or perhaps in irritation. Maybe both.

“You want to stay in the monastery? Alright, fine. Come train with me.”

“I thought you wanted me to relax, Jeralt.” When Jeralt looks over, Seteth is smiling a little. It’s a rare sight, at least directed at Jeralt himself, and so he assumes that his work must be going well. “Nevertheless, I will take you up on your offer. It might be good for me to stretch my legs once in a while.”

* * *

Seteth enjoys training with Jeralt more than he thought. Training, as a rule, is just another part of his work at Garreg Mach, a routine set of motions that he goes through because he must. He outmatches most of the Knights of Seiros, and Rhea rarely has time to. He trains with students, as well, but mostly for educational purposes.

Jeralt, on the other hand, is a refreshing change. His style is vaguely reminiscent of his daughter’s, but much more refined from years of practice and use. He’s much more versatile, as well, but perhaps not as quick on his feet as Byleth is. Regardless, fighting him is actually a challenge, and Seteth is glad that he’s on their side, not only because he would make a fearsome opponent, but also for the training opportunity.

Their final spar ends in a draw, after which both sink down onto one of the benches at the side of the grounds. “Damn, you’re better than I thought,” Jeralt laughs. “Really.”

Seteth stops cleaning his blade, trying to think for a moment. “I’m not sure if I should take that as a compliment or an insult.”

“Take it as you will. I’m just saying, you don’t seem like the kind of guy to be that strong, but you are. I’m impressed. Why aren’t you leading the Knights of Seiros?” 

“I prefer to stay out of combat situations, if I can. I keep myself ready to fight, if I must, but… I have seen more war and battle than I have ever cared to, and I do not wish to engage in more.”

“Ha! I know what you mean.” He leans back, sighing. “It seems like all I’ve done all my life is fight. Everywhere you turn, someone’s always fighting someone. It’s a blessing and a curse. I couldn’t have gotten by as a mercenary as well as I did if people weren’t fighting, but at the same time…”

“I know. Conflict seems to be inevitable in this world, no matter what we do. And yet…” He turns to Jeralt. “We never would have met without it, would we? I suppose that’s one good thing to come of it.”

“Are you saying you actually like me, even just a little bit? I’m touched,” Jeralt laughs, and Seteth laughs too. “Just imagine if we hadn’t met like this. Maybe in a little village or something… Just two grumpy old guys, sitting on a dock and fishing each day. Or something like that. You like to fish, right?”

“I do, yes. I find it relaxing.”

“Hey, then let’s do that. Maybe next week. Let’s go fishing. We don’t even have to leave Garreg Mach, just as you like.”

“I think I’ll take you up on that offer.”

* * *

When Flayn goes missing, life at the monastery feels unreal, as if time has slowed down impossibly. Every second that she’s gone feels like an eternity, that they can never find her fast enough, and yet at the same time, it feels that time is rushing by and they’re almost too late to save her.

Seteth is quiet, for once, and Jeralt doesn’t like it. He can only imagine what he must be going through. If something like that ever happened to Byleth… 

“You know, once, when By was little, she wandered off.” 

Seteth looks up, but says nothing.

“I couldn’t find her for the better part of the day. I spent that whole day, running around in the forest, calling and yelling for her. I shouted until I lost my voice, and then I shouted some more. I was worried sick. I had no idea where she’d run off to.”

“I assume this story has a happy ending,” Seteth says quietly. “She _is_ here with us today.” 

“Yeah, it does. Right around sunset she comes barreling out of the undergrowth. Scared the crap outta me, she did. I asked her where she’d been, and all she did was empty her pockets into my hands. She gave me a bunch of rocks and a dead mouse. Can you believe that?”

For a moment, it almost seems that Seteth is going to laugh, but he doesn’t.

“My point is, Seteth, this’ll all be over soon. I’m sure of it. We’ll find her, and one day you’ll be able to tell the story of her coming home too.”

“I certainly hope so. Thank you, Jeralt.”

* * *

Jeralt thinks that the fishing competition is a bit ridiculous, considering the fact that the Battle of the Eagle and the Lion is coming up soon and the students don’t need to be distracted. Seteth knows this because Jeralt told him so, and also told him that maybe it was a “bit much” to have _everyone_ fishing for Flayn (which Seteth vehemently disagreed with). However, Jeralt also joined Byleth on the docks to catch fish for nearly an hour, and brought several to a rather delighted Flayn, so Seteth suspects that perhaps he wasn’t quite expressing his true feelings on the issue.

Jeralt is like that, sometimes, too stubborn to voice how he feels about someone, but Seteth learned that he shows how he cares in other ways. Persistence is the hallmark of Jeralt deciding that he likes someone, and continued persistence and humorous snarky remarks are a good indicator that Jeralt likes someone even more. He doesn’t know what comes next, and he’s not entirely sure _why_ he would trouble himself to wonder about such a thing, but he does.

Having Flayn back is more than a relief- it feels as if the weight that Seteth has carried all of these years is completely gone, lost in his joy that she is home and safe. It also reminds him how fleeting and fragile life can be, the true value of the people he cares about, and the importance of telling them that they matter to him.

It is best not to wait until it is too late, he decides, and yet he also realizes how difficult it can be to voice those feelings. Especially when he hasn’t admitted them to himself yet.

* * *

The next month, Seteth is sulking. Jeralt knows this because he’s sighing a lot more often, and shuffling through more papers than usual, and switching between tasks more frequently with a frown like each assignment has personally offended him. Jeralt can see all of this from across the hallway, where he sits in his quarters and Seteth sits at his desk. However, Jeralt also knows that, if he points it out, Seteth will vehemently deny the fact that he is sulking and proceed to sulk even more in some sort of weird vicious cycle. 

So instead, Jeralt makes small talk, which he hates, because he knows that it won’t be too long before the advisor starts bringing up the cause of all that sighing.

“Think the fish will be biting tomorrow?” He’s taken up the habit of inviting himself into Seteth’s office, and Seteth’s done the same with his. Seteth still knocks when he enters, even if he doesn’t wait for a response.

“Perhaps,” Seteth says, shuffling papers a bit more aggressively.

“We could go fishing tomorrow.”

“Perhaps.” He pauses a moment, then sighs rather loudly. “Jeralt, do you ever feel that you have outlived your usefulness to someone?”

“Well, I think that’s a bit of a melodramatic conversation starter,” Jeralt snorts. “But alright, I’ll bite. What’s wrong?”

Seteth sets down his papers and leans back in his chair, crossing his arms. “Flayn has requested they I stop ‘interfering,’ as she calls it, in her personal affairs. I am only trying to protect her.”

“Is that all? She’s old enough to make her own decisions, Seteth. You know that. Hell, you should be happy she’s so independent! She’s doing well, even after what happened.”

“That independence is precisely what troubles me! What if she makes a foolish decision regarding what company she keeps? Or where she goes? What if something happens to her as a result, just as it did in the past months?” His voice is rising in frustration as he motions with his arms. “What if I…” It drops again, and he slumps back into his chair. “What if I lose her again?”

“Listen, Seteth. She’s a smart young lady. She’ll be fine, and she knows to be cautious. If you really think there’s a cause for concern, you can step in, but otherwise, stop pestering her, alright? The more tightly you try to hold on, the more she’s going to try to get away.”

“I suppose you’re right…” he sighs. “But still… I worry.” 

“I know how scary it can be to let a kid go, but eventually you have to, you know? And you’re going to worry. Of course you’re worried, especially considering what happened to her! But you also have to let her live a little. There’ve been some near misses with By in the past, but… I didn’t lock her up after them. We were more careful, certainly, but I didn’t stop her whole life.” 

“You kept her isolated from the rest of the world and ignorant. She didn’t even know that the Church existed before coming here,” he replies, almost accusatorily.

“Alright, I’ll admit I did do that. I did it to keep her safe, but I didn’t choke her. That’s the difference.”

“Well, I suppose, but…” 

“Maybe you just need a change of pace to think about this. Come down to town with me tonight.” He waves away the expected protests. “Yeah, yeah, I know, you don’t like to leave the monastery, but do it just this once. Just once.”

“...very well. But just this once.”

“Good man,” Jeralt smiles, and he pats Seteth on the shoulder.

* * *

The tavern is just as loud and rowdy as Seteth expected; that is, it’s loud and rowdy almost to the point of discomfort. He doubts he’s going to enjoy his time, but Jeralt insisted, and so here he is.

In his younger days, he knows, he would have enjoyed this. He remembers going to taverns years ago with his wife, rowdy and bright and full of life. She enjoyed the loud, lively atmosphere, and while it was never his favorite, he was always able to loosen up for her and enjoy himself. Those days were different, of course, before he was Seteth, before he had put up walls between himself and the world and grown sterner and harsher.

Jeralt looks like he’s having a good time, and he keeps grabbing Seteth by the arm and drawing him in for toasts, more drinks, and the like. It’s a bit overwhelming at first, but as the night goes on he finds that he’s enjoying himself, and smiling and laughing like he used to years ago. It’s a nice feeling, and a somewhat unfamiliar one, but one that he could get used to again.

By the time they leave, Jeralt has definitely had a bit too much, and Seteth simply pulls his arm over his shoulders and helps him stagger back to the monastery.

“I’m fine,” he slurs, nearly missing the next step. “I don’t need…” He hiccups. “Help.”

“You may think so, but someone has to take care of you,” Seteth scoffs, and yet, there’s a hint of fondness in his voice that he’s unaware of. It is unintentional but unmistakable.

“When are you gonna let someone take care of you, huh? Huh?” Jeralt points a finger in Seteth’s face as he repeats himself, more aggressive with each “huh.” Seteth firmly pushes the offending finger away, and Jeralt lets it fall to his side. “You never let…” He hiccups and sways for a moment, but finds his footing again. “You never let anyone give a damn about you. Someone’s gotta change that.”

“I am a grown, and, might I add, _sober_ man. I can take care of myself perfectly fine, thank you.”

“And you’re still lonely as hell.” A hiccup, a sway, and the finger is back in Seteth’s face. “Flayn is all you got. You make sure of that. If you keep her on such a tight leash… she’ll choke, or she’ll break free when you aren’t looking. Either way, then you ain’t gonna… you ain’t gonna…” He nearly keels over, and Seteth hurriedly supports him. “You won’t have anything.”

Seteth is silent. He doesn’t want to agree, even if he knows he’s right.

Jeralt seems to take the silence as both an agreement and an argument. “I know I’m right. Let me take care of you. C’mon, Seteth, you wouldn’t mind that, would you?”

“I suppose I wouldn’t mind if it’s you.”

“Good man,” Jeralt smiles, giving Seteth a hearty pat on the chest. “Good man.”

* * *

When Jeralt wakes up in his room, the sun is already high in the sky, and he has a raging headache the likes of which he hasn’t experienced in a while. It reminds him why he doesn’t drink like that anymore. Alright, so he got a little carried away, but he seems to have made it back fine. He looks around a little blearily to see Seteth, sitting in a chair by his dresser and not really paying much attention to him.

“Shit, how much did I drink last night?” he groans, more to himself than anything, as he presses his palm to his forehead. Seteth still responds anyways.

“An amount that was, to be frank, quite impressive, and no doubt would have been fatal to a lesser man.” He places his quill back into its well, and turns to face him. “I’ll have you know it’s past noon. I had to bring my work here so I could continue to keep you under close observation.”

“You… what?” Jeralt sits up to see that his dresser has been transformed into a makeshift desk, and everything on it has been unceremoniously piled onto the rug to make room for Seteth’s copious stacks of paperwork. “Dammit, do you expect me to clean up this mess with a hangover like this?”

“Of course not. I also took the liberty of tidying up your room a bit while you were passed out. I must say, the fact that the captain of the knights lives in such conditions is appalling…” He continues the lecture as Jeralt blearily glances around to notice just how utterly spotless it is. Tidying up a bit, indeed. Jeralt knows bullshit when he sees one, and he also knows that his room was considerably messier last night.

“Seteth, did you even sleep last night?”

“I beg your pardon?” Seteth seems offended at the interruption of his lecture, but more surprised at the question. 

“Did you sleep?”

“Of course I did. Not very long, I admit, but I did.”

“In the chair?”

“Of course in the chair. Where else?”

“You damn fool. We both know you’re too old to be sleeping in a chair like that. Have some mercy on your poor back!”

Seteth is taken aback for a moment, and then he laughs. “Yes, well, rest assured my back has already made me regret that decision.” 

“Come on, get over here.” He flips up the sheet next to him and scoots aside, patting the bed. “Give yourself some actual rest, on a nice bed. You look like shit.”

“Speak for yourself,” Seteth huffs, but he comes over and sits on the edge nonetheless. “I’m not sleeping in the middle of the day, you know. It isn’t-” 

He’s cut off when Jeralt seizes him with an arm around the waist and drags him down, laughing at Seteth’s yelp of surprise. “Just shut up and come to bed, you stubborn-” The rest of his words are lost in a brief, playful tussle, from which emerges no clear victor. Seteth ends up halfway across him, but Jeralt has an arm around him, securely holding him down lest he try to escape back to work. “Take your shoes off. I do have standards, you know.”

“Really? I never would have guessed.”

The next moment happens both quickly and slowly, when they look into each other’s eyes for just a second, and each make a decision to move the next. Jeralt thinks for a second that maybe the hangover _is_ worth it, if it means Seteth is kissing him like this.

The next moment, when their lips are apart, the headache is back and he decides that he’d take infinitely many scenarios in which he hadn’t been completely drunk the night before rather than this. Still, he’ll take what he can get. “Shoes off,” he reminds him, the gruffness of his voice tinged with fondness, and Seteth acquiesces.

“You know, you called me a damn fool earlier, but at least I didn’t have to be led home from a tavern last night, ” Seteth says as he returns to lay next to him.

“Yeah, well, my head aches too much to talk about that, and so does your back. Old man,” Jeralt chuckles, and then he tweaks Seteth’s nose. “I don’t want to get up. Let’s get some sleep and talk later, yeah?” 

* * *

They talk later, about a lot of things, about Byleth and Flayn and missions and church business. They don’t talk about the kiss, because they both know they’re too busy to worry about something like that. When Seteth even hints at bringing it up, Jeralt says “Later. There’s not enough time right now,” and Seteth nods, because he knows he’s right.

There’s never enough time. There’s never any damn time.

* * *

When Seteth hears of Jeralt’s death, and learns what happened at the tomb, and sees Byleth’s tear-stained face, he feels responsible, and the guilt burns inside him like a hot coal. He was the one that advised Rhea to give Byleth a senior knight to accompany her on the mission. He was the one who advised that they take extra precautions, considering the events of the past months. It was because of him that Rhea decided to send Jeralt with Byleth. He is responsible, he feels, and he apologizes to Byleth, but it feels hollow and empty.

He would have lost him eventually, regardless. Such is the curse of such a long life, and yet, if he had said something, if he had taken the time to actually talk about what they shared, would he have regretted it? Would it have been the right thing? He couldn’t be sure, and yet, everything about this feels so wrong. Still, to lose him so suddenly, so quickly… Loss is something that Seteth is painfully familiar with, but this one stings more than most.

He kneels down, arranging the flowers carefully on the gravestone, and feels a sob rising within, but he pushes it down. He mustn't lose his composure somewhere so exposed. His steps are hasty as he retreats to his office, feeling his fists shaking as he walks, and yet, when he is finally in solitude, no tears come. He feels utterly drained, empty as if everything inside of him has been carved out and left somewhere at the grave. Perhaps it has been.

Seteth deals with his grief as he does most of such feelings, by ignoring them and burying them beneath piles and piles of paperwork. The scratch of his quill is comforting, as is the shuffle of parchment, and he loses himself in reports and numbers and letters. 

When Flayn finds him later, he is slumped over his desk, the quill dangling in his hand and ink smudged on his face. He looks older than she remembers.

Try as he can to bury his feelings, he can’t, and he realizes after the fact that somehow, some way, he fell in love with Jeralt during those nine months, and he realizes that he should have said something, and he leans forward, his head in his hands, and weeps. Flayn embraces him, saying nothing, but her presence is enough. No words are needed. Any words that could come would be too late.

* * *

The afterlife is, to be honest, kind of boring. It’s not so bad, really, but Jeralt was hoping for something less… peaceful isn’t the word. Empty, perhaps. There’s been a few people that he’s exchanged words with in passing, but they hurried on, looking for their family and friends and lovers. He can’t say that he blames them. He searches for his wife a few times, but this place is so big that he hardly knows where to look, and some people have told him that they’ve been searching for decades and not found who they’re looking for. If he’s going to look for her, then he needs to come up with a plan to do so. 

His mind, however, is occupied by thoughts of someone else. There were so many things he should have said when he was alive. He should have made time to tell Byleth the truth, and… Seteth too. He deserved to know. He shouldn’t have shushed him on that day they kissed. He wonders, briefly, what his wife would think of Seteth if she ever met him.

One day, when he’s sitting under a tree, gazing out at the landscape (always ever-changing, but looking rather dead today), he feels a familiar, warm feeling, and yet an apprehensive one, as if something is coming and he doesn’t know what. He doesn’t like not knowing what, and yet he still doesn’t feel the need to be afraid. It’s odd, but comforting.

Jeralt hears footsteps approaching, crunching over the dead leaves and drying grass and sticks and stones hidden beneath it. He knows those footfalls as surely as the back of his hand, and doesn’t even look up when he speaks. “Took your damn time, I see.”

“Hmph. Impatient as ever.” He opens his eyes to see Seteth sitting down next to him, pulling aside his cloak so that he doesn’t crumple it unnecessarily. Fastidious, as always, when he has the presence of mind to be. “And yet patient enough to wait for me. I’m surprised.”

“Well, I can’t say it was my intention, to be honest. But it all worked out in the end. Besides, don’t I deserve a rest? I’ve worked my ass off my whole life.” He stretches and lets his arm casually fall around Seteth, just like he did a few times in life. They never had time to talk, but they still had a few moments of casual intimacy. It feels good to have that again. “So how’d it happen?”

“In battle. Garreg Mach was attacked by the Adrestian Empire.”

“Huh… Interesting. I wasn’t expecting that.”

“Neither was I, I admit.”

“And Flayn?”

“She escaped to safety with Rhea,” he sighs. “I can rest easy knowing that, at least.”

“Then do it. Kick back and relax. This is what we’ve waited for, isn’t it? A nice, peaceful afterlife? There’s not much we can do about the living, anyways.”

“I suppose, but…” 

“Uptight as ever,” he laughs, shaking his head. “Come on, Seteth. Loosen up a little. Live a little.”

“Well, I think it’s a bit late for _that_.” They both laugh, settling in closer together. Around them, the landscape is slowly waking up. The blades of grass straighten and grow greener, the trees sprout leaves once again, and in return the sun goes to bed, waking up the moon, which wakes up the stars and leads them out into the blackening sky to shine through the night. “Isn’t there any shelter nearby?” Seteth finally asks. The silence between them could have been hours or mere minutes, and Jeralt isn’t quite sure which it was, but it was comfortable, all the same.

“Probably. I haven’t checked, but then again, this place changes all the time, so why bother? I got used to sleeping under the stars as a mercenary.”

“Hmm. I see.” His lips are drawn tight, as they always are when he’s less than pleased.

“What, has the Church spoiled you so much that you can’t imagine sleeping outside for once? I swear, Seteth, you’ve gotten even softer since last I saw you.”

“Oh, for the love of… You’re absolutely incorrigible.” Seteth is trying so hard to keep that stern look up, but his smile is still peeking through in little hints and flashes. “Won’t anything keep you quiet?”

“I can think of a few things, yeah. But where’s the fun if I tell you?”

Seteth’s laughter is softer, quieter than before, and he mumbles something unintelligible before leaning in for a kiss. He hesitates for a moment before their lips meet, and Jeralt decides he needs some encouragement. Seizing him by the front of his shirt, he pulls him fully into it, and it’s a little rough, but really, when it’s been that long delayed, and they have that much to say with it, it’s bound to be. 

It had been too late, Jeralt thought, to realize he was in love, let alone tell him. Perhaps it wasn’t too late at all. No, it definitely wasn’t too late, and now they had all the time in the world.

“Jeralt,” Seteth says after breaking away, “I do believe I’m in love with you.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Aren’t we a bit old to be acting like lovesick fools?”

“Eh, maybe a little. We can be lovesick without being fools, right?”

He laughs a little. “I suppose we can. I’m assuming by how well you’re taking this that my affections are returned?”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. You want me to say it. Well, I will.” He kisses him again. “I love you, Seteth.”

Seteth smiles, but it quickly fades back into that typical stern frown of his, that stupidly handsome frown. “I’m glad to hear it. Despite this being the case, I’m still going to have to ask you to unhand me. I doubt there is anywhere to press these clothes, and if they are the only ones I am given for eternity…” His words are lost in Jeralt’s laughter, boisterous as ever, and if Jeralt didn’t know better, he’d say that he felt alive again.

**Author's Note:**

> i can't believe u did it cassian... u claimed another (me) with your seteth/jeralt propaganda
> 
> EDIT: there is a sequel to this fic now! a reincarnation au set in modern times  
> read it here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25700947/chapters/62403034


End file.
